


Lessons of Morpheus

by mydeira, Sadbhyl



Series: Responsible Adults (aka, The Menageaverse) [62]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Dreams, Multi, Surreal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 04:33:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydeira/pseuds/mydeira, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadbhyl/pseuds/Sadbhyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened to Ethan in the three weeks after their first encounter?  And why did he come back already so far under Joyce’s spell?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lessons of Morpheus

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published April 11, 2005
> 
> Set after the events of Ménage but before Artistic License. This bunny has been puzzling me for a long, long time, and I thank Mydeira for not letting me forget about it.

With his eyes closed, he felt every sensation deeper and more fully. But it wasn’t enough. He had to see.

Dragging his eyes open, he looked down into her smiling eyes. He was fairly certain her mouth would be smiling as well, if it weren’t being shaped by the girth of his cock. She looked decadent, kneeling in front of him in naught but her skirt, her breasts bared like his own personal concubine as she wrapped her hand and mouth around his throbbing prick.

Her mouth was exquisite, the pillowed pressure of her strong tongue, the gentle scrape of teeth as her blood-suffused lips slowly descended to make contact with her fist, then just as gradually stroked back up for her to suckle noisily at the head. He groaned and tried to reach out to caress her hair, guide her back down onto him, but strong arms banded around his chest, holding him tight against the broad male body behind him.

"The lady knows what she’s doing,” Ripper’s voice purred in his ear. “It’s too late to stop it now.”

She pulled back, showing him the smile he knew she had even as her tongue lashed over the sensitive tip of his cock. Then she was taking him in again, up and down surely and steadily, her pace building in a slow semblance of intercourse.

Ripper bent his head down, tonguing along the sensitive points on his neck and shoulder, obviously peering down to watch what she was doing. He could feel the familiar erection pressing into his ass, prominent but, for the moment, undemanding. “Brilliant, isn’t she?” Ripper’s voice was husky and thick. “She’s like nothing you’ve ever felt. Being welcomed between her thighs is like gaining entrance to heaven. Do you deserve heaven, Ethan?”

He tried to answer, but the words wouldn’t form. She was moving quickly now, firm suction added to the gentle drag of her flesh, her hand milking him with each draw of her mouth. Her other hand came up to cup his balls, gently but firmly massaging them as her head bobbed, her dark eyes now closed in obvious pleasure.

The tension that had been building up and choking him finally released, and he came in hard, choking spurts. Even through his ecstatic fugue, he could feel the gentle clench of her mouth around him as she swallowed time and again, milking him tenderly until he had nothing left to give her. At length she released him, reaching up to sensually wipe the last drops of his come off her lips before licking her fingers clean. Sitting back on her haunches, she studied him intently, unconcerned with her own nudity.

“You belong to me now,” she said quietly, surely. “You can’t escape me. I own you, body and soul. You’re mine, Ethan.”

With a gasp, Ethan jerked awake, sitting bolt upright in his unfamiliar bed in a hotel room in Vancouver. His heart was pounding, his skin clammy and his stomach damp. Bloody hell, he’d come in his sleep again.

It had been a week since his encounter with Ripper and Joyce Summers back in Sunnydale. He had left town without a second thought, but that hadn’t been the end of it. Every night since, he had dreamed of it. Or more specifically, of her. Ripper was there every time, but always unseen. It was Joyce who was the focus of every dream, as vivid and real as if she were right there with him. If he didn’t know better, he would swear she was some sort of enchantress, trying to ensnare him from a distance. He couldn’t deny the pull he felt to return to Sunnydale, just to see if he would be welcome.

With a sigh, he swung his legs out of bed, pacing through the dark to the bathroom where he grabbed a towel off the bar and quickly wiped off his stomach and prick before going back out to strip the wet sheets off the bed and cast them into the corner. It wasn’t the actions of the dream that disturbed him so much. He spent plenty of time reliving that exquisite blow and all that had come after when he was awake for it to bother him in his dreams. But the words haunted him. In reality none of them had spoken much at the time. Was his subconscious warning him of something? Or was it something else? Something more ominous for him?

Sleep regained its hold on him and he surrendered his concerns, curling up on the bare mattress with only the duvet covering him. His last waking thought was that the hotel wouldn’t be very pleased if the dreams came back.

 

 

“Rayne? Rayne!”

The insistent voice brought Ethan’s attention back to the task, and client, at hand. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Waterman glared at him. “You know, I’m paying good money for this spell. The least you could do is pay attention.”

Ethan pinned the man with a stern glare, but spoke placatingly. “You’re right, of course. My apologies. I was just . . . thinking ahead on your problem.”

In reality, he had been reflecting again on the dream, trying to parse it out. He spent too much time thinking on it, obsessing about it. He knew he had to get over it, but it wouldn’t let him go.

“Well, I should hope so,” his employer grunted. “I want those damn Indians out of my way. The legal shit’s not getting me anywhere. I expect you to make them not be a problem for me any more.”

Ethan’s eyes narrowed. Ah, the magic words. “I can guarantee that when I’m done, the tribe will no longer concern you.”

If Waterman lost his business, then the natives wouldn’t bother him anymore.

Sometimes that was just the way Chaos worked. Especially if you were a prick.

 

 

He was dreaming again.

It was the only explanation for the tights and tunic.

He was standing in a field of some sort, grown wild and unproductive with both weeds and wildflowers fighting for dominance. Not far in the distance was a copse of trees. He began making his way towards them.

He wasn’t surprised to find her there, sitting on a soft silk hassock. She looked lovely, dressed all in white, skirts and sleeves drifting about her in the faint breeze. Even the conical hat seemed flattering and not silly at all.

What did surprise him was the pile of metal plates scattered about her feet. She held one of them in her lap, rubbing firmly at the blackened metal with a tattered, dirty cloth. As he came closer, he realized the metal was a breast plate. “Why are you doing that?” he asked.

She looked up at him and smiled. “Because it’s yours.”

“That doesn’t come off.”

Her expression turned vaguely disappointed. “It does. It just takes time and the right polish.”

He was curious. “What do you use?”

Without saying a word, she reached into her bodice with the blackened rag, wiping up something that dampened the cloth and made it glisten darkly. Her gown remained unsullied, but he knew it was her own blood she now used to clean the filth off his armor.

“Why are you doing that?” he asked again.

“Because it’s yours,” she repeated, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Don’t. Do his instead. He wants his clean.”

“I tried.”

With a forlorn flutter of the rag, she indicated another stack of plate off to one side. He stepped over and picked up one long greave, carefully and delicately embossed, vicious dents hammered almost smooth. But the metal was dull gray, no sheen or luster to it at all.

She came to stand beside him. “I wasn’t enough,” she said sadly. “I tried, but . . .”

“What will it take?”

He didn’t see the knife until she lashed out, slicing through his tunic to cut into the flesh beneath. He cried out in surprise, but he found the wound didn’t hurt.

His blood dripped from the tip of the knife in her hand to splash onto the steel he held. The metal streaked crimson as the blood flowed into the engravings, making it stand out in greater relief. With a few swipes, she cleaned it away, leaving it bright silver, reflecting the descending sunlight. He held it up to look into the mirrored surface.

Ripper looked back at him.

Startled, he cast it away. It crashed into the other pieces in a cacophony of hollow metal. He turned on her in a fury. “What are you trying to do to me?” he demanded.

She remained calm in the face of his rage. “I’m not doing anything. This is your dream, Ethan. What are you doing?”

He woke up disoriented. It took him a moment to remember that he was on an airplane headed to Chicago, where he was to meet with a supplier before continuing on to Boston and his next client. He rubbed his eyes, trying to force the vivid images out of his head. It had seemed so real, he couldn’t help putting a hand to his chest to check for a knife wound.

“Mr. Rayne?” The flight attendant stopped at his seat, looking concerned. “Is everything alright?”

It took him a moment to answer. “Yes. I’m fine, thank you.”

Unconvinced, she tried again. “Can I get you anything?”

That was a brilliant idea. “Two double scotches would be lovely.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but we have a two drink limit.”

He looked up at her darkly. “If you put it in two glasses, it will only be two drinks now, won’t it?”

Her lips tightened. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He turned his attention back out the window, watching the endless field of clouds stretching out to the horizon all around. But the words from his dream wouldn’t leave him alone.

What was he doing?

 

 

It was unusual being two places at once. But he didn’t question it.

He was laying in the bed, warm and lethargic, aware of her spooned up behind him. He watched himself smile as she nestled closer against him, felt the heavy weight of her breasts shift against his back. It was very peaceful, both to experience and to watch.

But then he noticed it. A red, pustulated rash raised up along his ribs. She trailed her fingers over it and he winced. Raising her head, she looked at it. “That looks uncomfortable. Want me to scratch it?”

The thought of the pain made him cringe, but he trusted her. “If you think it will help.”

“It will.”

She began scratching at it, first with just her fingertips and then with her nails. It hurt like bloody fire, taking all his resistance to keep from screaming out. At the same time it felt brilliant, coursing through him to make his cock stand at hungry attention. But the scratching only spread the rash. White, crusted hives erupted and burst, revealing red, almost translucent skin beneath. She continued scratching with determination, and slowly he began to see something outlined beneath the raw skin. He moved closer for a better view just in time to see it writhe, pushing against the thin skin to extend it grotesquely. “Joyce, stop!” he begged hoarsely, watching in horror the thing that surged within his body.

“Almost there,” she coaxed. Then, without warning, she extended one finger and slit the skin open along his ribs.

He cried out, in pain on the bed and in horror as he watched. Out of the rupture came one long arm, broad and strong and as familiar as his own. The hand braced itself on the mattress and heaved, forcing the rest of its body out of the shell of his carcass.

Ethan’s eyes opened to darkness, his heart pounding, his skin clammy and chilled by his sweat damp sheets. God, this had to stop.

He lay awake for hours, unwilling to face what might be waiting for him behind closed eyes.

 

 

Alcohol seemed to be his best bet. Ethan stood at the bar, nursing his third Jameson in an hour. He couldn’t even remember what city he was in anymore. Alexandria? Rochester? Didn’t really matter. He was due to fly out to Cartagena tomorrow, wherever he was. The cab driver would know how to get him to the airport.

“You look like you could use some company,” a woman’s voice spoke at his shoulder.

Ethan turned and leaned back against the bar to study her. She was a tempting bit of stuff, curvy and plush, her dark hair tumbled loosely about her shoulders, her full mouth made up to draw the most attention. She smiled and lowered her eyes coyly, drawing his interest to her generous cleavage. Oh, yes, this one was eminently beddable.

He was about to open his mouth to take her up on her offer when half-remembered words echoed in his head, gentle but commanding. “I own you now, Ethan. You belong to me.”

Suddenly the woman before him held no appeal. With a frustrated sigh, he set his tumbler down on the bar. “Not that I don’t appreciate the very attractive offer, my dear,” he let his eyes drift back over her assets, “but I seem to be taken this evening.”

She looked puzzled, but simply shrugged and wandered off to find a different playmate.

Ethan turned back to the bar and swallowed the last mouthful of his drink before pushing the empty glass towards the bartender. “Again.”

“Are you expecting someone?” the man behind the counter asked, pouring out several fingers of amber liquor.

“Not really, no.”

“And you turned away _that_?”

Ethan fished a fifty out of his wallet and pushed it across the bar. “That’s why you’re going to leave the bottle.”

 

 

He stood there, waiting.

He was dressed normally, black slacks and blue dress shirt, dress shoes on his feet. He even wore his watch. Curious, he checked the time. The hands were missing.

The world around him was blank and neutral, but it felt almost malleable, as though if he knew how, he could shape it to his will.

She was there suddenly, smiling softly as he turned to look at her. She was dressed as she had been that first night, feminine and soft with careful attention to details to draw the eye of a man she had never met. For an instant, he hated the man who had stood her up that night, that he had earned such attention from her and discarded it.

She held out her hand. “There’s something I want to show you.” He took her hand, and she laced her fingers through his like a young sweetheart, leading him a few steps to a large looking glass that had appeared out of nowhere.

“You aren’t the only one unsure of your place.” She seemed suddenly less confident of herself.

They looked into the glass, and to his surprise, Ripper looked back at them. To be more accurate, two versions of the man stood there. In Ethan’s place stood Rupert Giles, tweed and spectacles and all. But to his surprise, in her place stood young, wild Ripper, looking exactly the way Ethan remembered him from all those years before.

“This is how we think the other sees us,” she explained, a trace of sadness in her voice. “I don’t want you to be him, but I don’t want to just be a way for you to try to get back to him.”

“I don’t want that, either,” he insisted, startled to see Rupert’s mouth move to his words. “That’s not why I’m attracted to you.”

“So let’s just be who we are.” She turned, and another mirror appeared, this time showing their true reflection, still holding hands intimately.

Unable to resist, he pulled her closer. “Or who we want to be?” He wrapped his arms around her and lowered his head to kiss her smiling mouth. She returned the kiss with equal passion, tangling her arms around his neck as she slid her mouth familiarly over his.

He glanced up, into the mirror that had shown their insecurities. It now reflected them as lovers, locked in their passionate embrace, everything as it was in reality except for the fact that they were completely nude in the reflection. Then suddenly the world shifted and the glass showed true as the two of them were now naked in each other’s arms. He could feel the soft crush of her breasts against his chest, the curve of her belly stroking against his rising cock. He brought his hands up to bury them in her hair with a groan. “Joyce.”

She pressed closer, allowing her hands to drift over his back and down to cup his ass. “You’ve been gone long enough,” she said, her mouth never leaving his for long. “It’s time to come back now.”

“I will.” He lifted her up and slid his cock into the soft swells of her quim, moaning in ecstasy at the welcome of her flesh. Both mirrors now reflected them joined together, their bodies rocking against each other in time to the ringing of a telephone.

He fought the pull of waking as long as he could, not wanting to leave the comfort of her body even as he realized it wasn’t real. But the phone kept ringing until he couldn’t ignore it anymore. Reaching out, he lifted the phone off the hook. “Yes?”

“Good morning, Mr. Rayne. This is your five a.m. wake up call.”

“Lovely,” he replied, not hiding the sarcasm in his voice. “Can you connect me to the Delta ticketing desk?”

“Of course.”

Benign music began playing as Ethan sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. It only took a moment before a painfully cheerful voice came on the line. “Good morning, thank you for calling Delta. This is Kari, how can I help you?”

“Yes, I have a flight to South America this morning that I need to redirect.”

“Of course, sir. What’s your new destination?”

“Los Angeles, connecting on to Sunnydale, California.”

“Certainly. Let me see what’s available.”

As Ethan gave the woman his details, he couldn’t help questioning just what in the hell he was doing. Ripper would most likely kill him, coming back so soon after the last time. But the lady said come, and even if she was a figment of his imagination, he still found he couldn’t resist her. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to anymore. The only thing he was sure of was the comforting arms of Chaos closing around him as he committed to return to whatever welcome awaited him.


End file.
